The senior rabbi of Sinai Temple in Los Angeles targets the secular
reader and sets out to repudiate nonbeliever arguments.
“AS A critic,” declares Harold Bloom, “I have learned to rely upon
[Emerson’s] apprehension that our prayers are diseases of the will and
our creeds diseases of the intellect.”Thus did Emerson anticipate the
current public conversation about the role of faith in American life.
His point of view is nowadays embraced not only by Bloom but also by
such contemporary figures as Christopher Hitchens (“God Is Not
Great”), Richard Dawkins (“The God Delusion”), Sam Harris (“The End of
Faith”), Julia Sweeney (in her one-woman show “Letting Go of God”) and
the movie-making team of Bill Maher and Larry Charles in their
upcoming “Religulous.”
Now a new David has picked up sling and stone and taken aim at the
critics of religion. He is David J. Wolpe, senior rabbi of Sinai
Temple in Los Angeles and author of six previous books, including
“Making Loss Matter,” a book inspired by the health crises in his
family. (Wolpe and his wife are cancer survivors.) Wolpe, who recently
turned 50, is an articulate, credible and even endearing spokesman for
his cause — he was named the No. 1 pulpit rabbi in America by
Newsweek this year, and he is a frequent contributor to newspapers and
news broadcasts on the subject of religion. Wolpe is no Bible-thumper,
however, and here he is clearly not preaching to the pews. Indeed,
“Why Faith Matters” appears to be addressed to the secular reader and
sets out to repudiate the arguments of bestselling authors such as
Hitchens and Dawkins.
Significantly, Wolpe never calls on the reader to accept religion out
of true belief; rather, he asks us only to keep an open mind on the
subject. “I do not believe our choice is either an absence of God or
an over-zealous embrace of God,” he writes. “. . . All of our culture
is built on the assumption of free will; it is the teaching of great
religions that such will is God’s paradoxical gift to us — to do
good, or to do ill.” Personal crisis of faithThus, for example, Wolpe
recalls his own crisis of faith when, at age 12, he saw “Night and
Fog,” the Alain Resnais documentary about the Holocaust: “Spirit
suddenly drained from the world,” he writes. “Surely if there was a
God, this would not be permitted.” Although his father was a rabbi,
Wolpe became what he describes as “a strong, self-confident atheist in
a world of weak, credulous believers.” He returned to a belief in God
only when his adolescent self-confidence slackened and he entertained
the possibility that he might be wrong.Wolpe is a reader and a
thinker, and he cites the writings of Nietzsche and Gibbon and Sartre
as readily and as expertly as the Scriptures and, in fact,
considerably more often. He makes no strong assertions about what
religion is capable of revealing: “From its earliest days, religion
has taught that at the heart of everything is not a puzzle but a
mystery . . . ,” he declares. “Acceptance of mystery is an act not of
resignation but humility.” And he insists that the believer is
actually more willing than the nonbeliever to grapple with the
complexities of the world: “One can have simple faith, but faith is
not simple.” Wolpe considers and rejects the argument that religion is
a “misfired strategy of survival” dating to our cave-dwelling
ancestors, and he declares instead that religion has been, on balance,
a civilizing and elevating force in human history. “That everything
from the cathedral at Chartres to relief missions is a result of an
evolutionary misfiring is impossible to maintain,” writes Wolpe, thus
repudiating the argument of naysayers like Hitchens who are perfectly
willing to throw out the baby with the bath- water. Based on examples
ranging from the Crusades and the Inquisition to the horrors of 9/11,
he concedes that religious true belief can be deadly but notes that it
has also inspired people of faith to “live decently and to care for
others.” Indeed, he argues that religion has served to check the human
impulse toward violence, “although by a kind of ideological jujitsu,
it sometimes contributes to the very violence it seeks to tame.” In a
display of his own rhetorical jujitsu, Wolpe quotes no less an
authority on skepticism than Michael Shermer (“How We Believe”) for
the proposition that “for every one of these grand tragedies there are
ten thousand acts of personal kindness and social good that go
unreported.” Measuring faithWolpe always avoids over-claiming when it
comes to measuring what faith can accomplish. “Religion is neither an
answer to a question nor the solution to a problem,” he concedes. “It
is a response to the wonder of existence and a guide to life.” At
moments, he appears to be asking only that atheists become agnostics
rather than true believers: “Surely with a touch of imagination, and a
touch less arrogance, we can appreciate that there is much in this
world, its creation, governance and majesty, that we do not begin to
understand.” At its core, Wolpe’s argument is based on quality-of-life
considerations, an astute stance to take when addressing a readership
of nonbelievers. “Living with an awareness of the miraculous,” he
insists, “re-enchants the world.” He explains how he was comforted by
his faith during his life-threatening illness: “My prayer was not
answered because I lived,” he writes, “my prayer was answered because
I felt better able to cope with my sickness.” And he credits organized
religion with the same kind of social utility that we might otherwise
seek and find in a psychotherapist’s office or a 12-step program.
“Inside of every human being is a battle against the pettiness and
malice that thread through our character,” he observes. “That battle
is often lost, but religion, at the very least, knows that it must be
fought, and should be fought, each day of our lives.” Wolpe’s book
will surely find a more sympathetic readership among nonbelievers than
among many true believers. Some ultra-observant Jews, for example,
refuse to recognize his ordination as a Conservative rabbi, and some
Christian and Islamic fundamentalists will quickly consign him to
hell, not only because he is Jewish but because he is so open-minded
in matters of religion. In that sense, “Why Faith Matters” is a
profoundly ironic confession of faith. When Wolpe calls on us to keep
“an open heart to the testimonies of others,” he is appealing to a
core value that is wholly rejected by some of the most ardent
advocates of religion today. Jonathan Kirsch is the author of 12
books, including, most recently, “The Grand Inquisitor’s Manual: A
History of Terror in the Name of God.”
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